A Visit to a String of Pearls
by Ms-Figg
Summary: Snape and Hermione use an enhanced Time Turner to retrieve something very special from someplace outside the norm.
1. Setting Out

**Chapter 1 ~ Setting Out  
**

"It's about time," Professor Snape snarked at his apprentice of the past three years, one yawning Hermione Granger as she walked into his lab. "Egads. I could almost swear you wait until the last second before you put in an appearance just to aggravate me."

Hermione finished yawning, then scowled at the Potions master.

"I am always punctual," she declared.

"Which means you are never early," Snape retorted, eyeing her robes critically. "Those will never do."

Hermione looked down at herself, then up at Snape.

"What do you mean? I always wear these robes when we go harvesting. You've never complained before."

"This is a completely different type of harvesting," the wizard replied, producing his wand and pointing it at her.

Hermione's brown eyes widened nearly to the size of saucers as they crossed and rested on the tip of Snape's wand.

"Wait! Tell me what you want me to wear and I'll do it. Last time you tried to adjust my garments, I ended up in just my bra and knickers!" she exclaimed, covering herself defensively.

Snape lowered his wand slightly, looking down his large nose at her for a long moment before he spoke. There was a little glint of remembrance in those dark eyes as they rested on the curly-haired witch.

"I was—distracted. I swished when I should have flicked. I assure you, Hermione, I am quite focused this time," Snape assured her, his mouth quirking slightly.

"I don't believe you were distracted. Nothing distracts you," Hermione snorted. "You did it on purpose because you thought it was funny."

Snape's eyes narrowed. He didn't find Hermione in her bra and knickers to be funny at all. Far from it. Still—

"If that's what you choose to believe, so be it. Now, stand still."

Hermione didn't stand still. In fact, she started to bolt for the lab door. Unfortunately, Snape anticipated her reaction. He had been her master for three years now, and as she learned his skills, he learned – her. So he aimed slightly ahead of Hermione and she ran right into the spell.

Obviously, she still had a lot to learn about him.

"Oooh!" she cried out in outrage as she was bathed in light. Snape ended the spell, then turned his wand on himself.

Hermione immediately felt an uncomfortable weight which started at her waist as she reactively gathered her shawl with one hand and looked down. She was wearing a blue bell-shaped skirt beneath which was a number of layered petticoats to give it volume. Skirt and petticoats were attached to a bodice with cartridge pleats that caused them to spring out just above her hips. The shoulders of her matching blouse were narrow and sloping, and the sleeves decorated with a raised lace pattern from the elbows down to her wrists. Pleated panels of fabric formed a form fitting triangle from her shoulders to her waist.

She felt her head.

She was wearing a bonnet. Then she lifted the voluminous skirt and looked down at her feet. She wore blue brocade satin slippers that tied around the ankles with silk ribbon. She then lifted her bonnet and felt her head all over. From what she could tell by feel, her curly hair was parted in the middle and pulled tightly to her scalp. A high bun descended to the back of her head and isolated long curls dangled down towards the front.

What the hell?

Hermione whirled on the professor.

"Where are we going? To harvest potion ingredients or to a masquerade ba . . ." she began, then stopped as she looked at Snape.

Gone were his severe black robes and lank greasy black hair. In fact, his hair looked quite shiny and healthy as it curled just to his shoulders attractively, augmented by well-trimmed black sideburns.

Snape wore a white linen shirt and a black cravat, knotted in a barrel-shaped knot beneath his chin. Over the shirt, he wore a tight-fitting double –breasted waistcoat with a notched collar that finished in double points at the waist. Attached to this was a pardessus, or black cape attacked by a yoke across the shoulder line. He wore full-length black trousers with a fly front and highly polished black boots.

"Professor," Hermione breathed as she stared at him, almost spell-bound. Was this the same man who made her life hell on his good days?

Snape flicked an imaginary spot of dust off the sleeve of his immaculate waistcoat.

"It doesn't do much for my 'greasy git' image, does it, Hermione?" he purred at her.

"N-no."

Hermione blinked at him. He looked so—so dashing. Almost handsome. If he could look like this, why did he go about looking like . . . like he did? He'd have witches pounding down his dungeon door.

Snape lifted an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Don't get used to it," he said witheringly. "And stop gawking at me."

He turned, walked over to his file cabinet and pulled open a drawer, removing something.

"I'm not gawking," Hermione said, managing to overcome her sense of awe. "You just look so different."

Snape turned around and walked back towards her.

"I may look different, but I'm not. That's the problem with people. They only see the packaging and not the content within," he snapped, holding up the item so she could see it. It was a Time Turner.

Hermione's focus immediately shifted. They were going to time travel? How exciting!

"We're going back in time!" she exclaimed.

"Your powers of deduction never cease to underwhelm me," Snape said dryly. "So, you figured that out all by yourself, did you?"

Hermione bristled inwardly. Snape was a brilliant master, but still a huge prat. She didn't trust herself so didn't reply. He'd have her collecting stink beetles for the next two weeks if she mouthed off.

"Yes, we are going to time travel, in a way—" Snape agreed. Then he touched the outer rim of the Time Turner and it glowed, a sparkling powder-like substance falling from where his finger touched, then evaporating in the air.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"I've never seen a Time Turner do that," she said in a near whisper.

"This is a very special Time Turner, one I've developed over the years. It has a special kind of magic. I called it an 'Alternate Time Turner.'"

"Really?" Hermione responded, fascinated. "What does it do?"

"It not only takes one back in time, but to alternate time lines," Snape said softly, the Turner reflected in his eyes as he dangled it before them.

"Alternate time lines? You mean alternate realities? How can that be? How did you make it?" Hermione asked him, her eyes also locked to the Turner.

Snape's face twisted distastefully as he lowered the necklace.

"I procured the essence of fan fiction writers' imaginations," he said, his expression clearly implying that the task was akin to wading through a very stinky sewer.

Hermione shook her head.

"I could have happily lived out the rest of my life without thinking about them," she stated.

Snape looked up at the ceiling as if he could see something beyond it.

"More than likely we're in the clutches of one of them now," he hissed, "but be that as it may, back to the situation at hand. As you know, Hermione, I hate to be manipulated and controlled—"

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one," Hermione agreed.

Snape nodded.

"Well, I began collecting bits of their creative essence from every ridiculous, over-sexed, unlikely, humiliating, out-of-character situation I found myself in, with the intention of utilizing it against them," he said coldly. "I've met with some success, but not as much as I'd like."

"Success? How?"

Snape smirked.

"I created this Turner, used it to enter their storylines consciously, then acted in such a manner that they'd eventually have no idea what to do next, so would stop writing the story. Sometimes for a short while, or even permanently. They believe they've 'lost their muse' but in actuality I just purposely ruined their stories before they ruined me any further. Unfortunately, many fan fiction writers don't care how illogical their plotlines are, or how big the plot holes are, they just . . . keep going. It's infuriating. But I stopped a few, so that is progress . . ."

"I need one of those," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I'd like to know what they're writing about me."

Snape's dark eyes fell on Hermione. Since she was in this story, she didn't have a conscious knowledge of the other storylines going on about her. She didn't know about their often illicit intimate relationships like he did. She had no idea that he was shagging her soundly, deeply and unforgettably literally all day and night in the alternate worlds of fan fiction.

Apparently, this current incarnation of their storyline didn't evolve that far yet, although the usual setup was in place for the inevitable naughtiness in the dungeons. Hermione was his apprentice, they worked alone together, they slept in close proximity and most telling of all, there were no other characters around.

The perfect formula for a bit of bed bouncing.

Snape had half a mind to loan Hermione his Time Turner and let her pop into one of those beauties. That would frizz up that curly hair of hers, he was sure.

But, there was work to do. Maybe later.

"Enough about those prepubescent and post-menopausal harpies with keyboards and nothing better to do than keep me breathing only to further humiliate me," Snape said dismissively, "I need to bring you up to snuff before we begin our mission. Now, I am Severus Snape, a trader in exotic spices. You are Hermione Granger, my ward."

"Your ward?"

"Yes, my ward. Where we are going it is unseemly for a young, unmarried woman to be traveling in the company of a man to whom she is not related. Also, women do not speak out. They are supposed to be _D-E-M-U-R-E_. Demure. You know what that means, don't you?"

"Of course I know what that means. It means women aren't respected," Hermione growled.

"Exactly. So you'll keep quiet. Is that understood?"

Hermione grunted.

Snape scowled.

"Is that understood, Hermione?" he pressed.

"Fine!"

"All right. It is also important that we do not affect the alternate timeline in any major manner. We have to stay on the fringe for the most part. We will use very little magic and not socialize any more than necessary. We are going to acquire an item, but have to do it at the proper time so as not to preempt the storyline's ending."

"What do you mean?"

"Simply this. Alternate timelines have their own reality, their own rules and their own ultimate destiny. These things are preordained. If we interfere in any overt manner as the story is being told, we could ruin the alternate reality and it will end prematurely. And in that case, we will end as well, since we will be present and part of that reality."

Hermione felt a small stab of fear inside.

"How will we know if we're affecting the reality? Even the smallest act could have terrible results, like in Ray Bradbury's 'The Sound of Thunder.' A butterfly was stepped on and it changed the entire future!" she said, paling.

Snape shook his head.

"It will not happen. I am extremely familiar with this reality and know where the focus will be at all times. We will act only when I know the focus is not where we will be. Understand?"

"No."

"Then, I'm afraid, you'll just have to trust me, won't you?"

Snape draped the chain of the Time Turner over both his and Hermione's heads.

"Where are we going? What are we going to retrieve?"

"You'll see," Snape replied cryptically. "It has to do with a string of pearls. Stay close."

Hermione was used to Snape's secrecy. He loved to spring things on her to "keep her on her toes," and she knew better than to keep pressing him for answers. He could make his apprentice's life very unpleasant. So she held her tongue. She'd find out what was what eventually. She checked her bodice. Yes, her wand was firmly ensconced between her breasts.

With that final warning, Snape spun the Time Turner, which exploded with a shower of golden light. It first encased them, turning them into golden silhouettes.

Then they disappeared.

They reappeared in a dank, dark, narrow and rather smelly alleyway.

"Good gods," Hermione gasped, only taking in more of the stench. "Aren't we supposed to still be in the vicinity of Hogwarts? A Time Turner only moves one through time, not space."

"An ordinary Time Turner, perhaps, but not this one. In any case, alternate realities are not fixed in space but are mutable. Now, follow me."

Hermione followed Snape toward the sliver of gray light that heralded the city of London ahead of them. She could hear chattering, people hawking wares and the clop-clop of horses as they drew closer to the cobblestone street.

Snape stopped then peered out cautiously.

"Take my arm," he ordered.

Hermione did so and they exited the alley and began walking toward the nearest corner. People all around them were dressed in period clothes, some women wearing day dresses and linen shoes, men in frockcoats, breeches and powdered wigs. Carriages rolled along on wooden wheels and a number of small rather run-down looking shops lined the street.

Snape stopped on the corner and looked up at the street sign.

It read: Fleet Street.

Snape smirked slightly, then looked across the road at a shabby shop.

The sign above the door simply read: "Meat Pies."

Hermione's stomach growled.

"I didn't eat this morning, professor. I'd love a meat pie," she said, looking at the shop longingly. "I'd bet the meat pies there are completely traditional."

Snape shook his head.

"Trust me. I have it on good authority that they're the worst pies in London," he replied.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked him, then suddenly stopped to listen. "Do you hear singing?" she asked the Potions master. "It sounds as if it's coming from that shop."

Snape frowned then pulled her away quickly, walking down the street and away from the music.

"Yes I do, and we are to avoid singing whenever it occurs and it will occur frequently. It will serve as the perfect alarm to warn us we should be elsewhere. Come, we have to make lodging arrangements. This expedition will take several days."

"But I'm hungry," Hermione whined, so intent on her empty belly that the weirdness of frequent outbursts of singing went completely over her bonneted head.

"You'll eat. Just not there, never there. As popular as that shop is going to become, 186 Fleet Street will never be a premiere dining experience," Snape told her.

"186 Fleet Street. Why does that sound so familiar?" Hermione mused out loud.

Snape cut his eyes at her. Hermione was smart. She'd figure it out.

They walked in silence for several blocks, nodding politely at fellow strollers as they passed. Hermione was getting rather winded with all those petticoats rustling around under her skirt.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked Snape.

"Yes," Snape replied. "To acquire lodgings at Judge Turpin's house."

" ***********************************************

A/N: I was hoping to finish this little crossover in one chapter but couldn't. Sigh. I worked in my "muse frustration" in this story and took some self-depreciating digs. Lol. I'm in a major writing slump but I thought I'd give it a go today. Thanks for reading.


	2. Settling In

**Chapter 2 ~ Settling In**

Hermione suddenly stopped walking, forcing Snape to stop as well. She looked up at him with both eyebrows raised as high as her bonnet.

"Judge Turpin?" she gasped then looked around the dreary, nearly monochromatic setting with amazement. She looked back at him.

"'The String of Pearls.' That's not an item, that's the original title of the penny dreadful written by James Malcolm Rymer and Thomas Peckett Prest! It was authored in eighteen parts. I can't believe this! You brought us to the world of Sweeney Todd? He's a serial killer! We have to stop him!"

Snape shook her a little to silence her as a couple walked by, then he said, "I knew your Gryffindor tendencies coupled with your bleeding heart philosophies would probably become an issue. Let me explain it to you this way—number one, this story is complete. Number two, it is only a story, fiction. And number three, if we interfere in any way, we will be lost along with the story itself. I don't know about you, Hermione, but I'd prefer a less sudden and stupid demise. We have to let the story play out in its entirety before I can collect what I came for."

Another well-dressed gentleman in a top hat passed by them, tipping it toward Hermione politely.

"But, story or not, people are going to die," Hermione said stubbornly.

"People die every day," Snape responded, pulling her forward so they started walking again. "And as I said before, these are fictional characters in a fictional story. They end when the story does, the whole lot of them. So spare me your ridiculous objections."

Hermione continued to fume.

"This is a perfectly horrible story. Todd kills a sailor named Lieutenant Thornhill, then kills other patrons, robs them, and Mrs. Lovett turns them into meat pies and feeds them to everyone. Then, Todd poisons her and is hanged. It's all about murder and death."

Snape smirked slightly.

"It's not as dismal as that, Hermione. This particular version of the story veers substantially. Firstly, no sailors have been injured in the making of this screenplay," he said.

"Screenplay? Is this a movie, professor?"

"Yes. The latest incarnation entitled "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street." It's—a musical. Quite entertaining, I must say."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Yes, it figures this would be the type of musical you'd enjoy. Honestly."

Suddenly they heard singing. Snape stopped. It was a lone male voice. Hermione let out a little gasp as a young man, with dirt on his face and bleeding from his nose and mouth appeared from an alleyway. He carried a huge duffel bag and looked up furtively at a high window before turning and walking away.

"Oh my goodness! He's injured," Hermione said.

"I stand corrected," Snape said softly. "One sailor was injured. That is Anthony, an acquaintance of Mr. Todd. He has eyes for Judge Turpin's ward. The judge didn't take kindly to his taking a 'gander' at her through her bedroom window, and let him know it."

"That's awful. He was beaten just for looking at her?"

"Gandering at her, actually. I take it you've never seen the movie."

"No. Violent movies aren't my cup of tea even when couched with music," Hermione said rather high-handedly. "I prefer intelligent, thoughtful cinema."

"I can imagine. When you say intelligent, thoughtful cinema, you mean romance, no doubt," Snape said, urging her forward. "Handsome leading men, ridiculous situations and an abundance of heaving breasts that must be won over. Or, as known in modern society, chick flicks. I prefer Sweeney Todd's bloody machinations to that brain-melting tripe."

The row of houses on this street faced an ornate wall, presumably of a public garden. The houses themselves had uniform fronts, and reminded Hermione of a palace, the central houses sporting columns and terraces. They stopped in front of one of the columned homes.

"Judge Turpin's residence," Snape said, releasing Hermione's arm and walking up to the door. He knocked sharply. A few seconds later, the door opened and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand as she looked at the man who answered it.

He was the spitting image of Peter Pettigrew. He was dressed in a high collar and vest, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. His ratty little eyes peered at Snape.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked politely. Dear gods. He even sounded like Pettigrew. But Pettigrew was dead, killed by his own silver hand when he hesitated to harm Harry.

"My name is Severus Snape, and this," he said, gesturing toward a wide-eyed Hermione, "is my ward, Hermione Granger. It is my hope to take up lodging with Lord Turpin during my stay in London. I have a letter of introduction from Sir George Simpson of theHudson's Bay Company.

Snape reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and presented a document with an official-looking black wax seal. Peter's double took it and studied it.

"Wait here," he said, closing the door.

"That's Peter Pettigrew!" Hermione hissed at Snape.

"Peter Pettigrew is dead," the wizard responded. "That is Judge Turpin's lackey, Beadle."

"Well he looks like Wormtail, and it's unnerving to say the least," Hermione complained.

"Well, gather up your nerves and keep them tucked away," Snape said tightly as the door opened again and Beadle appeared, bowing slightly.

"Do come in, Mr. Snape and Miss Granger. The judge will meet you in the parlor," he said, then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Where are your bags?"

"They will be delivered later," Snape said, allowing Hermione to enter first, and then following behind. Hermione stared at Beadle as she passed him, and he covertly waggled his bushy eyebrows at her, thinking she was showing "interest."

"Ew," Hermione thought.

They walked through the house which was decorated with flowered wallpaper, paintings, plants and far too much furniture. They entered the sitting room and the walls were lined from ceiling to floor on three sides with books. Hermione sat down on a settee done in red velvet with a handcrafted ridged grape pattern. She valiantly tried to get her petticoats under control. Beatle followed them in.

"Lord Turpin will be in shortly, Mr. Snape. Could I bring you and your ward a bit of tea?"

"Yes!" Hermione blurted out.

Beadle looked a bit startled and Snape frowned at his apprentice. Hermione quickly backtracked to fix her faux pas.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. –"

"Beadle," Beadle said.

"Mr. Beadle. It's just that I am famished and I'm afraid the lack of sustenance has robbed me of proper etiquette. I'm extremely embarrassed and would hate for you to think I am the product of poor breeding. Please accept my apologies, sir," Hermione simpered. Snape clearly thought she was overdoing it.

But Beadle was convinced it had been an outburst due to the lack of food which then brought on a resulting addleness of mind.

"Quite understandable, Miss Granger. The lack of food has caused many to offend in ways far greater than your small outburst. Some go to the gallows for it. I will bring you something to eat immediately."

Beadle bowed then exited the sitting room, closing the door behind him. Snape immediately chastised Hermione.

"Don't you think you were being a bit too gratuitous" he asked her.

Hermione scowled at him.

"In an age of insignificant women who don't speak out, I thought I groveled perfectly for my sin of speaking out of turn," she responded sarcastically.

"Don't be cheeky."

Hermione was about to respond, and not nicely when the door suddenly opened.

If Hermione was shocked by Beadle, she was on the verge of passing out as Judge Turpin entered the room. The judge stopped and stared at Snape, who bowed smartly, walked forward and offered his hand.

"Lord Turpin, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said.

The judge blinked at him several times, then took his hand firmly.

"Mr. Snape, a pleasure to meet you as well. I must say the resemblance is uncanny. You look as I did twenty-five years ago," the judge said, studying him.

"If that is the case, I will certainly cut a fine figure in my latter years, sir," Snape replied. "I would like to introduce you to my ward, Miss Hermione Granger."

Snape gestured to Hermione, who stared at Judge Turpin in amazement. He and Snape looked like father and son. Only the color of the eyes differed. Both had the huge, hooked, honker of a nose that Snape was known for.

The judge nodded at her politely in acknowledgement.

"Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione continued to stare at him until Snape cleared his throat meaningfully. Hermione snapped out of it, then popped to her feet and gave the judge a little curtsy.

"Lord Turpin," she said, her voice cracking a little.

The judge looked back at Snape quizzically.

"She hasn't eaten," Snape said as if that explained it all.

"Oh. Well, tea shall be served shortly. Do sit down, Mr. Snape," the judge said, offering him a chair. Snape took it, and the judge looked down at the document given to him by Beadle.

"You come highly recommended, Mr. Snape. Sir George holds quite a high position in Hudson's Bay. It says here that you trade primarily in spices, butHudson's Bay is known for its fur trade."

The judge was fishing.

"Ah, yes. I am in a transition. The East India Trading Company is failing fast, trouble in India, you know. So, I decided to try my luck with the fur trade. It is very lucrative. Canada has a wealth of fur animals, as do the former colonies. I am inLondon to establish a few buyers."

The judge nodded.

"Yes, the East India Company has lost much of its power since it lost its monopoly. You are obviously a shrewd man, Mr. Snape. May I offer you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you."

As the judge prepared libations for himself and his look-alike, the door opened and Beadle arrived with a large platter containing a tea kettle, cups and several scones accompanied by clotted cream and jam. He placed it on a table.

"Please, help yourself, Miss Granger," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her again while the two other men were engaged.

Hermione ignored the eyebrow waggle, stood up and approached the table. Beadle watched as she prepared her tea, then covered a scone quite liberally with cream and jam. She placed it on a napkin then took a huge bite.

"Mmmm," she breathed, chewing blissfully as Beadle shook his head slightly. Hermione finished the scone in record time, sipping tea between bites, then starting on a second scone.

"This bird can't be a product of good breading," Beadle thought, and he looked over at Snape speculatively. Well, he looked respectable enough. Perhaps the girl became his ward recently and hadn't had the proper training.

"Do you like the scones?" Beadle asked as she nearly finished the second one.

"They are delicious. Thank you, Mr. Beadle."

"You might want to save one or two for Mr. Snape and the judge," Beadle suggested.

Hermione immediately colored. She would have liked to have eaten a third one, but it was clear she was already coming across as a glutton in petticoats.

"Oh, of course," she said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, then finishing her tea. She returned to her seat, the edge off her hunger. Beadle left the room and Judge Turpin approached Hermione.

"Miss Granger, I also have a ward. Her name is Johanna. Unfortunately, she is of a rather frail constitution and does not socialize," the judge said. "I doubt you will meet her. I am sorry about that."

"I understand," Hermione said, fighting a scowl.

She knew Judge Turpin didn't want her to talk to Johanna because he wanted to keep the young woman for himself and was afraid that Hermione, who was probably well-traveled, would, like an escaped slave, bring the girl news of freedom.

"I'm afraid I only have the servants' quarters to offer you. They are in the attic. There are two bedrooms, a small sitting area, indoor plumbing and a small kitchen. I hope that will be satisfactory."

"Of course," Hermione replied, knowing the judge was only humoring her. He'd already made the arrangements with Snape. "Thank you for your kindness, sir."

Judge Turpin bowed.

"You are more than welcome, my dear. If you like, I can send up some embroidery work to help occupy your time," he said. "A delightful pastime for the fairer sex, embroidery. Not challenging at all."

He laughed lightly and turned to Snape.

"Would you like a spot of tea?" he asked.

"No, sir. I would like to peruse our lodgings. I—we have an appointment in two hours," Snape replied.

"We? Surely Miss Granger does not engage in your business pursuits?" the judge asked disapprovingly.

"No, sir. I bring her along because before she became my ward, she was, shall I say, sadly lacking in proper socialization and now I have to expose her as much as possible to the world so that she knows her proper place and mannerisms. It is quite the chore."

Hermione frowned at Snape from underneath her bonnet, lowering her head so the judge wouldn't see her glower.

"Ah, that explains much," the judge said, looking over at the platter and the number of missing scones. Only three of the five were left. Normally, the men would eat two and the woman, one. Obviously, Miss Granger needed training up.

"Well, Mr. Snape and Mr. Granger, please follow me. Beadle has gone to the square."

Hermione stood up and followed the judge after giving Snape a withering look. Lacking in proper socialization? He should talk.

Snape simply gestured at her to move quickly and followed her out the door.

* * *

After the judge excused himself, Snape used his wand and created several trunks and bags, then clothing to fill the closets. Hermione harassed him the entire time with accusations about why he chose this particular storyline.

"The judge looks just like you, and is almost as big a fiend as Sweeney Todd," she declared.

"His looks are coincidence," was Snape's cool reply.

"Sure. And Beadle. He looks like Pettigrew. Is there anyone else that resembles someone I know?" Hermione demanded. "I'd like to be warned if there is."

Snape shrugged non-committally as he closed the door to her petticoat filled closet.

"I don't know," he lied. "This world is full of characters. It's a distinct possibility that a few may favor someone you're familiar with.

"But they don't 'resemble' people. They look and sound EXACTLY like them. Even Judge Turpin sounds like you."

"As I said, Hermione, it's coincidence. There are only so many feature combinations that humans can have. The idea that some look just like others isn't that far-fetched."

"No, but two people in the same place? That has to be more than coincidence. You planned this."

"Of course I did, but it has nothing to do with the characters. It's the story I need to get through. Everything else in inconsequential. Now, enough about that. We have an appointment to keep.

* * *

Snape and Hermione left Judge Turpin's domain arm in arm. As Snape led them through the streets as if he'd lived here, Hermione couldn't hold in her curiosity any longer.

"Where are we going? Please tell me, professor."

Snape glanced at her sidelong. Normally, he would make her wait, but this time, he wanted to see her reaction to his answer.

"We're going to meet the man himself, Sweeney Todd," he replied.

* * *

A/N: Well I got out another chapter. Thanks for reading .


	3. Meeting Mr Todd Sort of

**Chapter 3 ~ Meeting Mr. Todd (Sort of)**

Hermione reacted just the way Snape had hoped.

"Going to meet him? Are you insane?" Hermione hissed at him as he tightened his hold on her arm. They were heading into the less savory part of town now, turning down an alleyway. Ahead of them were a number of lower class individuals, murmuring and hurrying along.

"No, I am not insane. I need to make sure my timing is correct. The only way I can do that is to see where Mr. Todd is at this point in time," Snape told her. "We will not be in any danger. I wouldn't like him to—ah—see me."

"Why not?" Hermione asked him.

"Because, it might distract him from his predetermined course," Snape replied obliquely.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously.

"Well, you let Judge Turpin see you. More than see you. You're staying at his house! I don't understand why you can interact with one character and not another. There's something you're not telling me," Hermione declared, stalling. People walked around them as Snape frowned at her.

"If you didn't waste your time watching romances, you'd be familiar with this telling of the tale," he hissed. "The problem is the judge wrongly arrested Todd, whose real name was Barker, then shipped him off to a penal colony for life."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted to have at his wife," Snape said, coaxing Hermione back into step.

"That's terrible!" Hermione said.

"It gets worse. He raped Todd's wife and afterwards, took in Todd's daughter. He has 'designs' on her. Todd escaped the colony only to find out that his wife went mad and drank poison and that his daughter is with Judge Turpin. He destroyed Todd's life. Since I look like Turpin, it's a relatively safe bet that Todd would like to carve a smile into my throat. So, I'll make it a point to make sure he doesn't see me."

"I don't blame him," Hermione said, "although he's still a monster."

"I rather think him a misunderstood character," Snape replied as they entered a throng of people gathered in a rather dirty market square. It was surrounded by the backs of buildings and didn't smell very good. In front of the gathered crowd was a large, enclosed cart with a makeshift stage in front of it. On the stage was a barber's chair and small table. A curtained doorway was centered in the cart's middle and steps attached to the side of the stage led down to the ground. The paint on the cart was faded, but very large signs on either side of the doorway held elaborate lettering which clearly spelled out "Pirelli's Miracle Elixir."

"What is this?" Hermione asked, standing on tiptoe so she could see.

"A show," Snape replied, his dark eyes shifting about. He started and got Hermione's attention.

"Look there," he said quietly, pointing to the other side of the square. Two people entered from that side.

Hermione followed his finger with her eyes. They rounded as she saw a very pale man with sunken eyes and a huge shock of mane-like black/brown hair with one thick white stripe on the right side. He looked somewhat familiar. But that wasn't what made her eyes round. It was the woman with him, also pale with somewhat sunken eyes. Hermione recognized her instantly.

"That's Bellatrix!" she hissed, instinctively reaching for her wand inside her bodice. Snape grabbed her hand.

"No, that's Nellie Lovett, the owner of the pie shop," Snape told her with an unpleasant smirk.

Hermione stared at the woman with hatred in her eyes before both she and Todd entered the crowd, turned, and looked at the cart expectantly. Hermione stared daggers at the back of "Mrs. Lovett's" head, and the woman wiped at her neck as if something had touched her there.

"First you, then Wormtail, and now Bellatrix LeStrange," Hermione said under her breath. "No wonder you like this story. You're perverse enough to enjoy seeing their doubles, and yours. This is awful. I so want to hex that woman. She might not be Bellatrix, but she has the same lack of scruples and blood-thirsty nature."

"In a manner of speaking," Snape agreed as a young boy walked out of the cart and on to the stage. He wore a hat pulled down over his ears. "But unlike Bellatrix, Mrs. Lovett takes no joy in torture or killing," Snape continued. "She is simply trying to make a living. As she says, 'Times is hard.'"

"So, she serves up Lone Pig to her neighbors," Hermione muttered.

"I think she prefers a little priest," Snape replied. "Now, stop complaining and listen."

The boy began banging on a drum and singing the delights of using Pirelli's Miracle Elixir:

Ladies and gentlemen

May I have your attention, please?

Do you wake every morning

in shame and despair

To discover your pillow

is covered with hair

What ought not to be there?

Well, ladies and gentlemen

From now on you can waken at ease

You need never again

have a worry or care

I will show you a miracle

marvelous rare

Gentlemen, you are about

to see something

What rose from the dead!

On the top of my head!

The boy whipped off his hat and gloriously blond hair fell down to his shoulders as the crowd gasped.

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"That's a wig," she said as the boy passed around a couple of bottles of Pirelli's elixir, touting his master's wares. Suddenly she heard a male voice sing out clearly:

Pardon me, ma'am

what's that awful stench?

Are we standing in an open trench?

The boy hesitated for a moment, but continued hawking, trying to drown out Todd's voice, but he couldn't manage it. Todd continued heckling, joined by Mrs. Lovett.

- What is this?

- What is this?

- Smells like piss

- Smells like...

- Looks like piss!

- Wouldn't touch it if I was you, dear!

- This is piss, piss with ink

A bottle came around to Snape and Hermione. Snape turned his face away, he could already smell it with that huge nose of his, but Hermione held the bottle up to her nose and took a big whiff—then promptly gagged, thrusting the bottle away from her and into the next outstretched hand.

"That IS piss!" she choked, her eyes watering. A bald man two persons down rubbed a liberal amount of "elixir" on his hairless head with gusto.

Snape's nose wrinkled.

"People in England during the 18th century weren't too bright," he observed.

Hermione was about to agree when suddenly the curtains on the door of the cart parted with a flourish, and the fabled Pirelli himself appeared in all his primped, heavily-accented Italian glory. Caped, with curling black hair and pencil mustache he addressed the crowd:

I am Adolfo Pirelli

The king of the barbers

The barber of kings

E buon giorno, good day!

I blow you a kiss!

"Oh, good Grindylows," Hermione muttered as the peacock actually blew a kiss at the crowd. Then, his face curled into a menacing scowl as he continued:

And I

the so famous Pirelli

I wish-a to know-a

Who has-a the nerve-a to say

My elixir is piss

Who says this?

"I do."

Hermione watched as Sweeney Todd stalked up to the cart boldly not the least perturbed by Pirelli's demeanor. Despite his paleness, Todd was really quite handsome—in a scary, disturbed, madman kind of way. Hermione couldn't help but think she'd seen him someplace before, but not in the wizarding world.

Todd addressed Pirelli as the crowd fell silent.

"I am Mr. Sweeney Todd of Fleet Street. I have opened a bottle of Pirelli's Elixir and I say to you that it is nothing but an arrant fraud, concocted from piss and ink. Furthermore, Signor, I have serviced no kings, yet I wager that I can shave a cheek with 10 times more dexterity, than any street mountebank."

Murmuring arose and murmuring began in the crowd as Todd opened a case of razors and held one beautiful gleaming blade aloft. Pirelli's blue eyes glistened lustfully as he stared at the fine blade.

"What a beautiful razor," Hermione breathed as it glinted in the drab light of day.

"Yes. He has quite a lovely set," Snape agreed, his dark eyes reflecting the flashing blade. "There is no other like it in this or any other world."

"Do you see these razors?" Todd asked Pirelli. "I lay them against £5 you are no match, sir. Either accept my challenge, or reveal yourself as a sham."

Hermione looked at Snape, barely hearing the challenge.

"You want his razors," she said softly as Snape didn't take his eyes off of Todd.

"Yesssss," he hissed.

"But why?"

"Because, those blades are made of finest, purest silver and consecrated in the blood of both the innocent and the guilty," Snape said softly. "There are amazing potions that can be made with such tools, potions that require the blade to be, shall we say 'tempered' in such a manner. Finding blades of this nature is next to impossible in our world, so I came to his to acquire them. No other Potions master can boast of such utensils in his stores."

Hermione fell silent as Todd mounted the stage, the boy bringing out another chair. Yes, she knew about things like this, potions that required ingredient to be prepared with the use of special tools consecrated by blood or other mediums, such as the fires of hell, or Holy water. It was sticky business to be sure. Severus Snape certainly didn't pull any punches when going after something he wanted.

Peter Pettigrew's double mounted the stage to serve as judge.

"Glad, as always to oblige my friends and neighbors," he simpered as Todd gave him a bleak, hungry stare. Definitely one for the blade.

The crowd watched as Pirelli made a spectacle of sharpening his razor, nearly taking off his boy's fingers in the process. He boasted about shaving the Pope and other royalty as he made short initial cuts to his volunteer.

Todd simply sized up his volunteer's face, then in eight simple strokes, left him with a face as smooth as a baby's bum.

"The winner is Todd!" Beadle cried. Pirelli looked shocked. The last time he looked over at the barber, he hadn't made a single cut. But he paid Todd.

"Until we meet again," he said meaningfully.

Todd took the money and joined Mrs. Lovett, Pirelli spinning and kicking his boy into the cart. He disappeared inside after him, the thick sounds of blows falling on flesh following.

"What a terrible man," Hermione said as she heard the boy's howls.

"Not for long," Snape replied, taking her arm and leading her away. "Mrs. Lovett's shop is about to become very popular."

As they walked away, Hermione heard Mrs. Lovett say to Todd, "Suppose it's just me gentle heart, but I do hate to see a boy treated like that."

Hermione snorted just a little at the statement, considering what Mrs. Lovett was about to do to Mr. Pirelli in a few hours. She might not actually be Bellatrix LeStrange, but by Hermione's standards, she was close enough.

* * *

A/N: At last, another chapter. I took the Sweeney Todd dialogue directly from the script. Thanks for reading. ***


	4. Johanna's Ride

**Johanna's Ride (Short Chapter)**

Hermione and Snape returned to Judge Turpin's house, shared dinner with their host and retired to the servants' quarters. The judge seemed quite distracted and relieved to see them go.

Now Snape and Hermione were in the parlor, Snape standing in front of the many paned window and looking down into the street, his hands clasped behind his back. Hermione was sitting by a lamp in an upholstered chair. Bored, she had decided to try her hand at embroidery, but after sticking her fingers several times through the blasted hoop, she'd given up. She looked up at Snape, who was humming a very catchy little tune.

"What's that you're humming?" Hermione asked the Potions master.

"Just a catchy tune," he responded, then he looked over his shoulder. "Would you like to hear the lyrics?"

Both of Hermione's eyebrows rose. She was in a more comfortable gown, sans petticoats and her hair was down.

"What? Do you mean you're going to sing them? I don't know if my ears are ready for that," Hermione replied. Snape frowned.

"I've been known to hold a decent tune when inclined," he said rather stiffly, turning to face her. Hermione sat forward attentively.

"All right, let's hear it then."

Snape cleared his throat, bobbed his head a couple of times to get the proper waltz-like beat, then sang the following:

**_The history of the world, my love_**

**_Is those below serving those up above_**

**_How gratifying for once to know_**

**_That those above_**

**_will serve those down below!_**

Hermione began to smile. The professor had a rather nice voice and she liked the song. It sounded—revolutionary, as if the lower class were finally going to get their due. Then, Snape sang the next verse:

**_What is that?_**

**_It's fop_**

**_Finest in the shop_**

**_Or we have some shepherd's pie_**

**_peppered with actual shepherd on top_**

**_And I've just begun_**

**_Here's the politician, so oily_**

**_It's served with a doily, have one_**

**_Put it on a bun_**

**_Well, you never know if it's going to run_**

**_Try the friar, fried, it's driiier_**

"Stop! That's a perfectly ghastly song! It's about eating people!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes, but rather catchy just the same, don't you agree?" Snape said with a smirk. "It's called 'Have a Little Priest.' It's a duet that was sung by Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett just this afternoon in honor of their new venture. I imagine right now, Todd has completed his new barber's chair above the basement of the meat pie shop."

"New chair?"

In response, Snape drew a finger across his throat, pretended to pull a lever at his side and stumbled back a foot or two, then extended his hands in a "tada!" pose.

"Meat for the meat pies," he concluded, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He was enjoying squicking Hermione out. And she was squicked to the nth degree.

"Oh no!" Hermione gasped. What made it even more horrible was that they knew what was going on, but couldn't or wouldn't do anything to stop it. A distant whinny sounded, and Snape darted to the window, looking down intently.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, popping up and going to the window as well. A small carriage was stopped in front of the judge's home.

"I believe Miss Johanna's ride is here," Snape responded.

"Her ride? Where is she— hey!"

Suddenly a kicking, screaming Johanna was carried out fireman-style and thrown into the carriage by Beadle, who climbed in after her. The horses and carriage took off at a gallop. Judge Turpin was standing on the stairwell watching it go.

"They kidnapped her! Oh my gods!" Hermione exclaimed as a crazed Anthony tore out of the darkness in pursuit, screaming at the judge, who screamed back at him. The sailor ran into the night after the carriage.

"And that is that," Snape said, drawing the blind as Hermione blinked at him. "The wheels are set in motion. Now, we observe and wait the next few days."

"Where did they take her?"

"To the asylum. Miss Johanna had planned to run off with Anthony this very night. The judge had other plans for her. He's going to let her cool her heels until she better appreciates her—situation."

"The insane asylum! That was a terrible place in this time period. All kinds of atrocities were committed there," Hermione said as Snape stretched.

"She'll only be there a few days," Snape responded, exiting the parlor. "Turn off the lights when you retire. We will be joining the judge for breakfast in the morning. Please remember to hold your tongue. We are guests here and have nothing to do with his personal affairs."

"But . . . but . . ."

"Good night, Hermione."

Snape retired to his room.

Hermione plopped back down in the chair, fuming. She felt like creeping downstairs and adding some voracious Bumbuggers to the judge's bed. He'd sleep very well with his arse itching from the inside. But she finally retired.

At breakfast, Hermione held her tongue, but glared daggers at the judge every chance she could get away with it. Mostly, she looked down at her plate as Snape and the judge talked lightly as if everything were right with the world. Finally, Hermione couldn't stand it any longer.

"And how is your ward, Judge Turpin?" she asked him, trying not to scowl.

Snape tried to kick her under the table but she had anticipated that, and had her legs safely drawn aside.

"Actually, Johanna has gone abroad. For her—health. The atmosphere here didn't seem to agree with her," the judge said rather sourly.

"I bet," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me?" the judge responded with his brows drawn together. Gods, he looked so much like Snape, both of them glowering at her slightly.

"I said oh yes. The weather here is quite damp," Hermione said in a quick save.

The judge's brow relaxed. Snape still glowered however.

"Indeed," he agreed.

Hermione remained silent for the rest of the meal. The judge excused himself, he had hanging to do. And not pictures.

"Hermione, you're trying my patience," Snape growled at her as he stood up and nearly yanked her out of her chair.

"I can't stand this. He's a beast. He has an innocent girl locked up in an asylum simply because she wants to be free," she complained as she wrested away from him and put on her bonnet.

"She will be free of him completely in a few days. Now come along. We have reconnoitering to do."

They exited Turpin's house and headed for Fleet Street.

Over the next few days, Snape and Hermione watched as Mrs. Lovett's business increase nearly twenty-fold. Mr. Todd's business was doing quite well but few noticed.

"It's like a roach motel," Hermione said to Snape as they sat on a bench across the street, pretending to read books and enjoy the weather. "The customers check in, but they don't check out. How does no one notice?"

"Mr. Todd is quite careful. There are never any lines and he questions his customers to find out their status. If they are 'passing through' then most likely, they'll be passing on into the next batch of pies. You have to admit they're doing a thriving business. Nothing like cooperation, I say."

"You're disgusting," Hermione hissed.

One evening they came back to Judge Turpin's house to find that Beadle had hand-delivered a batch of Mrs. Lovett's meat pies.

"I hear they're all the rage," the judge said, digging into a shepherd's pie. Hermione nearly hurled and excused herself as Snape hummed "A Little Priest." He curiously picked up a pie . . .

"Severus, can I speak to you, please?" Hermione hissed, popping her head back into the parlor and frowning at him. Snape put the pie down and addressed Turpin, who was chewing blissfully.

"Please excuse me, judge. Apparently, my ward needs a nursemaid."

"I understand completely. Rejoin me if you have time," Turpin replied around his supper.

On the stairwell, Hermione was livid as they ascended.

"You were going to eat that pie!" she said accusingly.

"I was not going to eat it. I simply wanted to taste it," Snape replied.

"Taste it? But it's made out of people and you know it! That's just sick!"

"People are animals, Hermione. Just because they are supposed to be intelligent doesn't mean they don't taste pleasant. Look at a pig. Who would expect it to taste the way it does by mere appearances? It's all in the seasoning."

"Well, you won't be eating a little priest while I'm around, I don't care how well it's seasoned," she huffed, entering the servants' quarters.

"Truly, there's no accounting for taste," Snape quipped, closing the door behind them.

* * *

A/N: Another short chapter. The next is going to be rather complicated so I thought I'd get this part out of the way. Thanks for reading. *


	5. The Plot Thickens

**Chapter 5 ~ The Plot Thickens**

It was mid-afternoon, and Hermione and Snape were in their usual positions, on a bench across the street watching Mrs. Lovett's meat shop. Hermione was reading a penny dreadful, while Snape appeared to just be enjoying the atmosphere. But his dark eyes continually shifted to the wooden stairwell that led to Todd's barber shop.

He started when Pirelli's former charge ran down the stairs, clearly holding a paper and darted up the street. Snape's mouth tightened grimly.

"Hermione, we have to go," he said to the witch. Hermione looked up at him, then over at the meat pie shop. Nothing seemed to be going on. It was before the dinner rush.

"Alms! Alms for a miserable woman!"

Hermione jumped because the call was almost right in her ear. She looked up to see a bent woman, her face lowered and hidden by her ragtag bonnet. The layers of clothing she wore beneath her tattered frock were equally as tattered, and she smelled of piss. One hand was outstretched and curled, ready to receive whatever pittance could be given.

"Alms for a miserable woman!" she cried again.

Hermione began to reach into her small clutch purse to give the woman a coin, but Snape's pale hand reached across her line of sight and dropped a large amount of money into the woman's palm. It closed tightly.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" she cackled.

The woman trundled off, still crying for alms although Snape had given her almost 20 pounds.

Hermione looked at him, stunned at his generosity.

"I can't believe you gave her that much money!" Hermione exclaimed.

Snape looked after the old woman, his face expressionless.

"A final kindness," he said softly, then, "come, we have to go, now."

He stood up and waited for Hermione, taking her arm.

"Where are we going? Back to the judge's house?" she asked as they walked quickly.

"No, we won't be returning there," Snape replied, turning down a narrow, smelly and very nearly dark alley. He pulled out his wand and changed into his familiar black robes.

"The masquerade is over," he told Hermione, who had her nose covered with her hand against the strong ammonia smell surrounding them. "Change into your robes."

With her other hand, Hermione reached into her bodice and removed her wand. With a flick and swish, she changed into her familiar and comfortable robes and trainers. What a relief after days of wrestling with petticoats and shoes without proper arch support. Snape took her arm and Disapparated.

They reappeared in a dark, damp basement with glistening walls. The air was thick with heat and stink. In the center of the large room was an enormous oven, cylindrical with a locking iron door. It stood more than seven feet high and seemed to contain the fires of hell themselves. On the floor was an iron grate that led to the sewers beneath, and sluices were cut into the stone floor, moving water through the area and down tunnels which also spilled into the sewer. On the other side of the room was the biggest meat grinder Hermione had ever seen. Beneath the stained spout rested a huge wooden tub. It was empty. A few spluttering tallow candles ensconced on the walls lit the area, but the major source of hellish light came from the open oven grill window.

Hermione looked around the dismal place.

"It smells like a slaughterhouse married a shithouse," she whispered to Snape. Her voice still echoed.

"It's Mrs. Lovett's bake house," Snape replied. "It does serve as a slaughterhouse of sorts and is located over the sewers. Hence, the stench."

Hermione walked over to a cooking dolly that held several trays of freshly baked pies. Despite their content, they were golden brown and smelled delicious over the stench.

"I can see why people like these pies," she said softly.

"They would like them less if they saw this," Snape said suddenly from the left of her. He was standing in front of a recess. Hermione walked over and gasped at the sight that met her eyes.

There on the floor rested red, glistening carcasses. The skeletons had been broken apart and stripped of most of the flesh, but bits of meat and tendon stubbornly clung to the bones. It was a large assortment of human ribcages, skulls, pelvic bones, arms and legs, all in a grisly pile atop a rank puddle of ichor that slowly drained into a nearby sluice. A couple of plump rats slipped through the bones, obviously living high on the scraps of flesh left behind. On a shelf above the bones were the smaller body parts, hands, feet and neck vertebrate, still rather meaty and probably waiting to be boiled.

"Oh my gods," Hermione gasped, tears filling her eyes. "How could they do this? There must be parts of at least 20 people here."

"Apparently Mr. Todd is very prolific," Snape responded. "But he's not much on disposal. I suppose he thinks that's Mrs. Lovett's job."

Hermione spun on him.

"How can you be so flippant about this?" she demanded. "You're heartless!"

Snape arched an eyebrow at her.

"These are fictional characters, Hermione. They aren't real," he replied softly.

"They're real enough. They feel love and pain, they have lives. And these lives have all been cut short by a madman! I don't care if this world is 'real' to us or not. It's very real to them, and this is horrible!"

"You have to contain yourself, Hermione. If the sight of mere bones sets you off, then what is about to occur in this basement will make you have a complete breakdown. You've been through a war and seen horrible things. You're no stranger to Death. You have to be stronger than this," Snape told her.

Hermione was about to continue the argument when Snape held up his hand to silence her. There was a sober look in his eyes as they met those of his apprentice.

"This is not just a mission, Hermione, it is a test. A test of your mettle. You need to find the strength not to interfere, the power to turn off your instinct to rush in as savior. It is a test that I myself have faced. A test—that I have passed time and time again. As your master, I require it of you."

Hermione stared at Snape, realizing he had indeed been tested. When he served the Dark Lord, when he killed Dumbledore, when he witnessed the death of professor Burbage. If he had done anything, the outcome at the final battle could have been much different. Voldemort could have won. Hermione knew a little about changing outcomes.

She had saved Buckbeak and Sirius Black, but she also later changed another outcome in order to right what she considered a grave injustice. She took a large chance altering destiny, but she never regretted her decision.

Suddenly, the iron door leading into the bake house clanked.

"Disillusion yourself," Snape hissed at her, tapping the top of his head with his wand and melting away into a slight shimmer. Hermione did likewise, and stood frozen as more clanks followed and the sound of a heavy bolt being pulled away ended the noise.

The heavy door was slowly pushed opened and Mrs. Lovett entered, followed by Pirelli's boy. Hermione's eyes narrowed as the woman led him in. There was a look on the baker's face that she didn't like at all.

Snape caught Hermione's arm, drawing her away to the far wall, and quietly cast a Silencing spell. They would be able to hear each other, but no one else could. Hermione might be able to exercise restraint, but not vocally reacting. This would be a test indeed.

"Do I need to take your wand?" Snape asked her. Hermione frowned at his shimmer, but it was a totally wasted effort, since he couldn't see her displeasure.

"No. I'll be fine," she replied stiffly.

"We'll see," the disembodied voice responded.

With the flickering shadows and flame that illuminated the bake house, their shimmers were practically undetectable.

The boy's face screwed up as he followed Mrs. Lovett.

"Quite a stink, ain't there?," he said. Mrs. Lovett pointed to the floor.

"You see those grates? They go right down to the sewers, and the smells come up. Always a few rats gone home to Jesus down there," she replied, walking up to the huge oven.

"What's the boy's name?" Hermione asked Snape.

"Tobias," he said shortly.

If Hermione could have seen his face, she would have seen how tight his jaw went at the answer.

She watched as Mrs. Lovett gave him instructions on using the oven. She opened the heavy door by lifting a heavy latch and heat blasted out as the flames roared. Tobias peered in.

"Now, this'll be the bake oven. Three dozen at a time. Always be sure the door is closed properly, like this," she said, demonstrating. The door locked with a somewhat sinister clank. Tobias opened and closed the door similarly. Then Mrs. Lovett led him over to the huge grinder, grasping the turn handle.

"This is a grinder. Pop in the meat. Give it a good grind. Pops out there," she instructed, cranking the grinder. Apparently the meat was already in. Thick, moist, red, raw and unhealthy-looking strings of meat slowly slithered out of the holes and snaked into the wooden tub. Blood streamed down the metal in little rivulets and dripped into a conveniently located sluice.

"You try," she said to Tobias, who replaced her at the crank and gave it a good grind.

Hermione felt nauseous as she looked at the ground human flesh filling the tub. That used to be a person. Someone's son or husband. Now, he'd be someone's lunch or dinner.

"That's my boy," Mrs. Lovett said a slightly sad expression on her face. Then she brightened and headed for the door, opening it. Then she turned to Tobias.

"I'm just gonna pop upstairs. Back in two shakes, all right?" she said, wearing a fake smile.

"You mind if I have a pie while I wait?," Tobias asked hopefully.

Mrs. Lovett's face went soft.

"Have as many as you like, son," she said softly, then exited the bake shop. There was the sound of locking on the other side.

"She's locked him in," Hermione said.

"Yes," Snape agreed as Hermione's shimmer crossed the room, following Tobias as he walked toward the trays of pies. She wanted to warn him, to stop him from taking one, but she couldn't interfere.

Her eyes glistened as he picked up a pie and bit into it. His chewing slowed and a confused look crossed his face as he stopped chewing completely.

"Oh no," Hermione breathed as he pulled out the top segment of a thumb, the nail still on it. He stared at it for a moment, then looked around, his eyes falling on the recess. He slowly walked over to it and looked inside.

He saw the bones. He blinked, then approached the shelf on which rested the severed hands and feet. He picked one up.

Suddenly there was a loud noise as the ceiling above him opened up and he leapt out of the way as the body of Beadle crashed to the floor, his eyes sightless, throat slit from ear to ear and blood coating his chest and draining to the floor. Tobias screamed and ran for the door, beating on it and begging to be let out.

Hermione screamed as well. It was a good thing Snape had cast the Silencing spell or Tobias would have added ghosts to this chamber of horrors. Hermione stared down at Pettigrew's double's body, ashen and shaken.

"Todd killed him," Hermione breathed.

"Apparently, in this world as well as ours, this character has absolutely no luck," Snape said quietly over her shoulder.

Hermione looked over at Tobias, who had stopped pounding on the door. He was looking around the bake shop, horror in his eyes.

"I believe he's finally got it," Snape commented.

They watched as he ran about, looking for someplace to hide. The tunnels all led to dead ends, only having a bit of space for the water to drain out. Hermione so wanted to help him.

"Is he going to die? Is Todd going to kill him?" Hermione asked.

"Everyone dies eventually," Snape replied cryptically.

"That's no answer!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Just watch," Snape told her.

Tobias ran over to the grate and looked down at it, then dropped to his knees and tugged with all his might. There was a cracking noise, and the boy pulled harder. The grate came up and he dropped in. There must have been a ledge because he pulled the grate back into the hole as if it had never been removed.

"Smart boy," Snape observed. "Had he been a wizard, he might have been sorted into Slytherin."

* * *

A/N: Another chappie. Thanks for reading and for the encouragement. :) ***


	6. Love Can More Than Hurt

**Chapter 5 ~ Love Can More Than Hurt**

"The poor boy," Hermione whispered, her eyes glistening.

Snape didn't respond. Suddenly, the heavy iron door opened and in walked Mrs. Lovett, followed by Sweeney Todd, the firelight flickering over their faces adding an more sinister cast to their drawn expressions. Mrs. Lovett's eyes darted about.

"Toby! Where is he?" she breathed looking toward the dark, flickering shadows as they moved through the bakehouse. Todd followed, one hand behind his back.

"Toby!" he called as they both passed over the grate where the boy was hiding.

"Todd's hiding a razor behind his back," Hermione hissed as the blood-thirsty entered the sluice tunnel. Mrs. Lovett was singing sweetly an attempt to get the boy to show himself.

"Nothing's gonna harm you, Not while I'm around," she crooned

"Toby? " Todd called in a frustrated voice.

"Where are you hiding?" Mrs. Lovett sang.

"Toby?" Todd called again, clearly frustrated.

Mrs. Lovett continued to try and draw Toby out. "Nothing's gonna harm you, darling. Not while I'm around."

Finally, Todd declared, "You wait for him here," and hurriedly stalked out of the bake house.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's gone," she said. "Now, maybe Toby can get away. Maybe he'll come out because only Mrs. Lovett is here."

"He will leave here, eventually," Snape replied watching Mrs. Lovett as she poked about, looking for the boy.

Hermione frowned at him. Knowing Snape, he didn't necessarily mean Toby would be leaving under his own power. But she knew it would do no good to press him for more information.

For the next five minutes, they watched Mrs. Lovett look for Toby, calling the boy, trying to convince him it was safe to show himself, then cursing under her breath. Suddenly, the ceiling opened and another body tumbled out, landing on top of the dead Beadle.

Hermione gasped as both she and Mrs. Lovett hurried over to see Todd's latest victim. Hermione's eyes widened, as did Mrs. Lovett's.

"Bloody hell," the baker breathed. "Oh no. No! Not her!"

There was a note of abject fear in her voice.

"It's the old woman that begged for coins in the street. Why would he kill the old woman? She was harmless," Hermione breathed. She felt Snape's hand on her shoulder.

"Come away," he said softly. "It's almost over."

"It's so senseless," Hermione said tremulously as Snape led her to the far wall.

"No matter what you see or hear, Hermione, it is imperative you stay put," he warned her.

The shimmers of the witch and wizard blended with the flickering firelight and they stood in silence for the next five minutes as Mrs. Lovett wrung her hands over the old woman, muttering.. Suddenly, the ceiling flew open and Judge Turpin hit the floor with a thud, landing on his back, blood gushing from his throat pooling around him.

Mrs. Lovett slowly approached him, leaning over the body. Suddenly, Judge Turpin lunged at her, grabbing the hem of her dress desperately, his mouth working.

Hermione was in shock, and in her shock she remembered . . . something like this occurring before. Snape's dark eyes glittered and his jaw tightened as he looked at his double gasping, blood streaming freely from his throat and also remembered.

Both witch and wizard remembered when Nagini had bitten him and he was left to die on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and his desperate grab for the boy-who-lived, how he clutched him in his death throes. Seeing this bloody and similar end to Judge Turpin made Snape's insides grow even colder than normal. Hermione trembled at the memory.

But that ending was different from this. From the shadows within the just-emptied shack, a shimmer appeared and dropped down next to him, swiping his wound with Phoenix Tears, pouring a vial of Blood Replenisher, then the coveted Felix Felicis down his throat. This treatment was followed by a Beazor being pushed between his bluing lips.

"Come on, Professor," Hermione's voice said softly. "I've come to help you. You have to live."

When Snape responded, his eyes opening slowly, Hermione melted into view, a Time Turner around her neck and a smile on her lips.

Snape spit out the Bezoar.

"You should have let me die," he rasped at her.

Hermione shook her head.

"Oh no. Not after all the good you've done, Professor and all the hell you put us through thinking you were the enemy. I'm not letting you get out of this 'unsung hero' role so easily. You're going to suffer fame and adoration just like the rest of us, and to be honest, probably more since you're such an insufferable, anti-social git. Now, let's get back to the castle. Voldermort is dead, or will be shortly, thanks to you. And Harry, of course."

Both Snape and Hermione snapped out of their memories as Mrs. Lovett screamed at the top of her lungs, tugging at her dress. Turpin had it in a death grip.

"DIE! God in heaven, Die!" she screamed as she managed to rip her dress from his grasp.

The judge rolled to his back and with a final gurgle, died.

Mrs. Lovett moved forward again, staring at the dead man, then her eyes shifted toward the old woman.

"You," she breathed as if the murdered woman could hear her.

The sound of heavy footsteps sounded and Mrs. Lovett desperately grasped the old woman by the arm and started dragging her towards the oven.

The door to the bake shop crashed open and Todd strode in, looking like the madman he was. His face was streaked with blood, and his clothing covered in it. He still held the bloody razor in his hand. Obviously he wasn't as meticulous as usual when he dispatched his nemesis. Judge Turpin met a very sticky end.

"Oh my gods, he's covered in blood," Hermione breathed.

"Your astounding ability to state the obvious always irritates me," Snape replied snarkily. But the horror Hermione had just witnessed made his snide remark sail right over her head.

"Why did you scream?" Todd demanded.

Still dragging the old woman, Mrs. Lovett answered, "He was clutching onto me dress,

but he's finished now."

Todd noticed her dragging the body.

"I'll take care of it," he said, walking forward. "Open the door."

Mrs. Lovett continued to drag the woman's body as if she didn't hear him. Todd walked up and tore her away from the corpse.

"Open the door, I said," he hissed at her.

Mrs. Lovett backed away toward the oven, her face drawn as Todd rolled up his sleeves. She opened the oven door, revealing the huge roaring fire within, her eyes round.

Todd looked down, and he stiffened as he looked at the blood-soaked body. He moved closer, staring at it, then slowly kneeled and brushed the hair aside so he could see the woman's profile. His eyes widened with recognition, then horror as he gently rolled her to her back, her familiar face clearly revealed.

In a broken voice, Todd intoned, "'Don't I know you?' she said. You knew she lived."

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "Does he know her?"

"Yes," Snape answered soberly.

Mrs. Lovett walked toward him.

"I was only thinking of you."

"You lied to me," Todd said softly, his eyes fixed on the still face, the woman's hard features softened by death. He looked up at Mrs. Lovett.

"No, no, not lied at all. No, I never lied," Mrs. Lovett replied in song, a pleading note in her voice.

"Lucy . . . said she took a poison," he murmured in tenor counterpoint as he looked back down.

Mrs. Lovett took another tentative step forward.

"She did, never said that she died," Mrs. Lovett sang.

"Oh no," Hermione exclaimed within the Silencing Spell, "Is that . . . oh that's awful!"

Todd gently brushed back his dead wife's hair.

"I've come home again," he sung to her, his eyes glistening.

As much of a monster as Sweeney Todd was, Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He had resorted to revenge on the world when he believed his wife had died because of the shame Judge Turpin visited upon her, but she had lived. If only he had known, perhaps he wouldn't have taken the bloody path he did. Hermione's eyes were hard as they rested on Mrs. Lovett. She truly was as evil as Bellatrix LeStrange. And now that she had done this terrible thing, she tried to justify it. She sang to him desperately.

"Poor thing, she lived but it left her weak in the head. All she did for months was just lie there in bed. Should've been in hospital. Wound up in Bedlam instead. Poor thing!"

Todd knelt there unmoved.

"Better you should think she was dead."

"Lucy...oh my god. What have I done?" Todd lamented.

"Yes, I lied 'cause I love you! I'd be twice the wife she was!" Mrs. Lovitt sang, encouraged now by her own boldness

"I love you! Could that thing have cared for you like me?" Mrs. Lovitt demanded, her voice ringing shrilly.

Suddenly, Todd stood up, his back to Mrs. Lovett and he began to sing brightly, almost joyously, his eyes gleaming.

"Mrs. Lovett, you're a bloody wonder, eminently practical and yet appropriate as always. As you've said repeatedly there's little point in dwelling on the past."

He turned to face her. "Now, come here, my love," he said

"Do you mean it?" she asked him, backing away. He still had the bloody razor in his hand.

Todd outstretched his arms.

"You have nothing to fear my love," he replied, then began to waltz with Mrs. Lovitt.

"Oh, don't tell me he's forgiven her? How could he when she lied to him? All of this killing could have been avoided if only she had told him the truth about his wife. That she lived." Hermione said as they whirled around the bake house.

"She was lonely and selfish," Snape responded. "Love can be very sticky indeed. Overly so, in this case."

The couple whirled faster and faster, moving closer and closer to the open oven door, Todd's voice growing more enthusiastic . . . Mrs. Lovett explaining everything as they danced. Todd's voice overpowered hers.

The history of the world, my pet

Is learn forgiveness and try to forget

And life is for the alive, my dear

So let's keep living it

Just keep living it, really living it!

Just keep living it, really living it!

Todd roared the final line and slung Mrs. Lovitt into the open oven, the flames engulfing her as she screamed, the hot pie grate falling in front of her ignited body, blocking her escape.

"No!" Hermione screamed, not expecting this grisly ending to the dance.

Todd looked in at the blackening, crisping, flailing woman coldly, then slammed the door on her screams. He looked in the window once more, then closed that too, bringing an sizzling end to the treacherous Mrs. Lovitt.

"I must say," Snape's shimmer quipped as Todd returned to the corpse of his wife and dropped his razor on the floor. "Mrs. Lovitt certainly went out in a blaze of glory."

"Oh spare me, would you?" Hermione hissed, shuddering.

Behind a mourning Todd, a floor grate slowly and silently began to lift.

A/N: Another chapter. I had to watch the last scene of Sweeney Todd several times over to write this chapter. It's so grisly. Ack! But I did it, wincing the whole time. Lol. Thanks for reading. :)


	7. Mission Accomplished

Chapter 6 ~ Mission Complete

Todd leaned over his dead wife, lamenting her death as Tobias slowly climbed up out of his hiding place. The boy stared at Todd hatefully, then looked over towards the oven that held the charred remains of Mrs. Lovett, the only person in the world that had ever treated him kindly. If she had done wrong, it was Todd's doing. He corrupted her, Tobias knew it. He had tried to warn her, asked her to report Todd to the Beadle, but . . . it had all gone wrong. She wouldn't listen. Now, she was dead and Todd was left. Todd and all his evil.

But . . . wait . . .something glittered on the floor in the firelight. Something sinister, beautiful, something that Tobias could use. There was no need for the law . . . Todd was beyond the law.

Tobias bent down and slowly picked up the discarded razor, his eyes hard and young face contorted malignantly.

"Oh, no! No, Tobias . . . " Hermione breathed as the boy crept up behind the barber, his intentions clearly visible on his twisted face. Hatred had never looked visceral before, or felt so palpable. It was as if waves of it pulsed off the boy.

Snape was silent as he watch Todd's expression become knowledgable, then peaceful as he lifted his head, exposing the flesh of his throat, his eyes closing almost blissfully as he waited for the final end to all this madness.

"He knows," Hermione whispered, horrified as the image of the boy and man were reflected redly in her brown eyes by the flames. "He's not trying to stop him. He knows Tobias is there . . ."

"Yes, he knows," Snape replied softly as Tobias halted just behind the kneeling Todd's right shoulder. "He's waiting for it. Waiting for . . . peace after all his torment."

Suddenly, Tobias' arm moved swiftly and surely as he slit Todd's throat from ear to ear. He backed away, then dropped the razor and exited the bake house.

Todd's head slumped slightly as blood poured like a river from the deep wound, flowing freely from his throat, bubbling over his chest, coursing over his lap, then slipping under the body of his beloved and over the filthy floor in waves. There was so much blood. It seemed impossible that so much blood could come from one man. One could think that he held the blood of all his victims in his veins like some kind of vampire. Still his eyes, those haunted, shadowed eyes rested on the face of his wife as life drained away.

Snape and Hermione removed the Disillusionment spell, and Hermione walked as close to Todd as she could get without stepping in the great pool of blood. She pointed her wand at him.

"Avada Ked—" she began before Snape snatched the wand out of her hand.

"Are you insane?" he demanded furiously.

"No, I'm not insane. I only wanted to end this for him. It would be an act of mercy," she retorted, grabbing for her wand.

"It would be an act of suicide! The moment he dies, this world ends. This world ends, we end? Understand?" Snape snapped at her.

Hermione's eyes rounded. In her horror and sympathy, she didn't think of the consequences. She forgot this world was the construct of an author's imagination.

"Death by blood loss isn't the fastest demise," Snape said, handing Hermione back her wand and scooping up the bloody razor from the floor. He quickly took out a parchment bag and dropped it in, sealing it. "But we still have to hurry."

"Ew. Aren't you going to clean that?" Hermione asked him, her face screwed up.

"No. It carries the blood of the innocent and the guilty. A very powerful combination. This razor will be my most treasured of the set. Now, come along."

Snape rushed for the bakehouse door and up the stairs.

"But we aren't Disillusioned!" Hermione said, running behind him as his robes billowed and they came out in the shop. People were there, but they were moving as if in slow motion. Snape threaded his way through them and out the door, then up the stairs that led to Todd's shop. Everything around them was graying and darkening.

"It's . . . it's getting rather hard to breathe," Hermione gasped as she followed him up.

Snape didn't reply as he darted into the barbershop. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, floor, in the barber's chair, and bloody footprints leading out of the shop.

Snape grabbed the box of razors off of the sink, opened it and looked inside, satisfied. Hermione was clutching the sink, her breathing harsh as blackness settled around them.

"I can't . . . I can't breathe," she choked.

Snape tucked the box of razors under his arm, grabbed Hermione around the waist and spun the Time Turner . . .

The next thing Hermione knew was she was on her hands and knees in the grass gulping down gobs of air as Snape's robes billowed away toward Hogwarts castle.

"Hey!" she coughed, but he didn't stop.

"Bloody git," Hermione wheezed, sitting up on her knees.

* * *

Snape uncharacteristically gave Hermione three days off to recover from their adventure. She put the time to good use.

Snape was in the lab brewing away when Hermione entered, letting the door slam behind her for emphasis. She tossed something on to the table beside the steaming caldron. Snape glanced at it, but said nothing as he counted his stirs.

"Do you know what that is?" she demanded.

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Snape responded sarcastically.

"That's Sweeney Todd, the musical. I watched it. All of it," she told him.

"Well, huzzah for you," Snape replied, placing the lid on the cauldron and turning to face her.

"Yes, and the actors are identified. Did you know an actor named Alan Rickman looks just like you? And an actress named Helena Bohiem Carter looks just like Bellatrix. They're Muggles. And the one who play Sweeney Todd, he's a very popular actor named Johnny Depp."

Snape cocked his head at her.

"And?"

"And what?" she snapped.

"Don't you find it unsettling that you aren't familiar with Muggle actors? I mean, really, Hermione, are you that wrapped up in the magical world that you're completely out of touch with your Muggle heritage? Tsk. Even I take in a flick now and again, just to stay on top of things," the wizard said with a frown.

"Well, I like older movies," she said in her defense.

"You need to get with the times," Snape replied archly, then turned and began cleaning around his cauldron.

"Well, I have. I also rented another DVD, called Alice in Wonderland and Rickman, Carter and Depp were all in it," she said.

Snape turned to her with interest.

"Did you really? That's excellent," he said with a small, unpleasant half smile. Hermione immediately became suspicious. Anything remotely connected to Snape smiling in any manner couldn't possibly be good.

"Why is that 'excellent?'" she asked him.

"Because," Snape replied. "I'm dying to get my hands of a bit of Jabberwocky blood. It will make a marvelous addition to my stores. Keep your weekend free."

"Oh, bollocks," Hermione hissed, throwing up her hands.

Here they go again.

THE END

* * *

A/N: And that's it. Thanks for reading and for being so patient. A crossover like this isn't really that creative, but it did give me a chance to write and finish something as well as maybe interest a few people in seeing the Sweeney Todd movie. It was wonderful. Thanks all.


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